


band-aid

by driedvoices



Category: Bully: Scholarship Edition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-13
Updated: 2012-05-13
Packaged: 2017-11-05 08:06:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/404171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/driedvoices/pseuds/driedvoices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jimmy is bleeding, and Pete's first-aid is remarkably ineffectual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	band-aid

Jimmy is bleeding. 

This is not an unusual occurrence by anyone's standards. Tonight, though, Pete can't stop looking at it. Running down his chin, red and almost syrupy, like the fake stuff they use in plays. The cut is somewhere high on his cheek, and it's crusted over. It makes Pete wonder how long Jimmy's been walking around outside, head ducked and fists clenched. Like the world owed him something. Maybe it does. 

Jimmy hisses when Pete moves a wet cloth to his face, the peroxide sizzling and bubbling against the open skin. Pete swallows and pretends not to notice. 

"Don't have to," Jimmy grunts, and tries to turn his head away. Pete grabs his shoulder and looks him straight in the eye, even though one of them is swollen into a squint. He'd be lying if he said it didn't scare him a little, but. He's used to being afraid. 

Jimmy doesn't move away again. 

There's another cut at the corner of his mouth, and it looks a lot more painful. Pete stares at it for a moment, wiping off blood absentmindedly before moving to it, and he sees Jimmy's teeth dig into his lip. He pulls away for a second, startled without knowing why. Wonders if maybe the helping is worth the hurting, worth watching Jimmy hiss and fidget. He decides he doesn't care, and rubs at it a little more forcefully. 

"Don't whine," he reprimands softly, and Jimmy scoffs. Pete rolls his eyes and puts the rag down, instead letting his fingers trace the discoloration around his eye. He expects the skin to be rough and hard, because everything about Jimmy is solid and threatening, but it's smooth underneath his fingers, like a girl's would be. Unthinking, he presses down tentatively. 

"Shit, Petey," Jimmy says and winces, drawing back. The skin of his cheek is strained and the cut splits open, lurid and wet. 

"Calm down, Jimmy," Pete says, and nudges him down to the bed. "I've got band-aids, hold on." Jimmy nods and leans back against the pillows, shoes still on against Pete's white white sheets. 

He kneels down and rummages in one of his desk drawers, past unused notebooks and half-chewed pencils. He looks down for a minute and notices his hands are shaking. Vaguely, he wonders why. Across the room Jimmy is staring up at the ceiling, hands behind his head and legs crossed, the picture of contentment save for the black eye and bloodied up face. His knuckles are raw, too, smudging pink against the pillowcase. 

Pete resurfaces holding a little box in his hand. He starts to walk back over to the bed but stops short, the loud crash and tell-tale groan of some kid up late to buy a soda echoing through the dorm. Jimmy looks frozen, too. They'd forgotten, for a moment, that there was anyone else here. 

"Hey, Petey?" Jimmy's throat bobs as he swallows. "Close the door?"

"Yeah, sure, Jimmy," he says, and blinks a few times before he does. It shuts with a soft click and Pete crouches back down by the bed. 

"You gonna sit up so I can reach you?" he says and it comes out dryer than he meant it to. 

"Nah," Jimmy shrugs and grins lazily. Pete tries not to think about how his teeth are pink. 

"Figures," Pete sighs and perches on the edge of the bed, leaning over the press the bandage on Jimmy's face. 

It has superheroes on it. The adhesive isn't really sticking and there's still blood trickling out the sides. He looks fucking ridiculous. Pete does his best to hold in his laugh but he can't, so he stays half-way leaned over Jimmy, snickering in his face. 

" _What_ ," Jimmy demands, but his irritation is thin at best. 

"Nothing, nothing," Pete insists, trying to bite on his tongue. The door creaks open mockingly, adding its two-cents. Jimmy jumps a little, and his chest bumps Pete's shoulder. 

"It does that sometimes," Pete reassures him. "Bad latch, I guess."

"Right," Jimmy says, and Pete gets up to close the door again. His fingers are still around the knob when he feels Jimmy behind him, warm and almost touching. He starts to turn and face him but Jimmy pushes him instead, and he lets out a little cry as his shoulder collides with the door. 

"The hell, Jimmy?" he asks, but it comes out muffled. He squeezes his eyes shut and he hates himself for making that fucking high-pitched noise when he feels Jimmy half-hard against his leg. Jimmy makes a shushing noise, hands still pinning Pete's shoulders, and presses his mouth to the back of Pete's neck. 

Pete exhales and curls his fingers against the door. Jimmy's mouth is surprisingly clumsy but warm, slick and sliding over his skin. He pulls away suddenly and the air hits Pete's neck, frigid. He shivers and arches back, closer to Jimmy, his mouth, his chest. For a minute he thinks that he's done something wrong, because Jimmy is suddenly still behind him, and then he realizes that his ass is pushed against Jimmy's cock. 

He turns suddenly, taking advantage of the quiet. Jimmy's head is bent down, all half-closed eyes and chewed-up lips. His arms are planted on either side of Pete's head and they're trembling, just slightly. 

"Hey," Pete says, and swallows, tugging on Jimmy's shirt. He looks up at that and Pete kisses him quick, almost chastely. It's his first; he doesn't mention that. Jimmy tastes like copper and rubbing alcohol, and his lips are rough and chapped against Pete's mouth. He lets out a noise that is almost a groan and Pete feels it shaking through him, shuddering. His fingers tighten on Jimmy's shirt and he tugs him closer. Jimmy pulls back and stares at him, eyes dark and mouth a bloodied mess. Pete wonders if that's what he looks like right now. Probably not. He doesn't really mind, though, because Jimmy doesn't seem to, and then there's a foreign tongue at his lips and in his mouth, twisting around his own, and their teeth clack a little and that's okay, too, he thinks. 

"Petey," Jimmy mutters, "fuck," and Pete remembers that his fingers are still knotted in the hem of Jimmy's shirt and he lets them dip underneath and Jimmy's stomach is shaking and he tenses when Pete rakes his fingernails lightly over the skin there. He flattens his palm and feels the way Jimmy's muscles contract under him. He tilts his head up and rests his forehead against Jimmy's, feeling warm puffs of breath against his neck. 

"Hi," he whispers, "I—" he starts, and rubs against Jimmy's abdomen. "I don't know what to do."

"God," Jimmy pants, " _that_." He reaches a hand down between them and starts to fumble with Pete's pajamas, pulling the drawstring loose and yanking them down below his hips. Jimmy's hand brushes against his crotch and he moves his hips up, trying to grind against Jimmy's palm, searching for friction. Jimmy pulls his hand away and Pete makes a strangled noise in his throat until he feels his own hand being guided down and he busies himself with unbuttoning Jimmy's pants.

And then they're standing there, about a quarter-way undressed and leaning onto each other for support and Pete thinks they must look pretty fucking stupid right now. Then Jimmy starts palming his cock through his boxers and Pete just about loses his shit right then and there. He groans a little and pulls at Jimmy's chin, kisses the corner of his mouth awkwardly until Jimmy angles down and he can do it the proper way. It's wet and messy and Jimmy's teeth are suddenly bearing down on his bottom lip and he moans like a bad porno queen, then flushes to the tips of his ears. Jimmy doesn't seem to care if Pete's embarrassed or not because he just lets his mouth slip further down, biting at Pete's jaw, his collarbone, and his hand is ducking underneath Pete's boxers right now and pulling them down and Pete is holding onto his shoulders so hard he thinks it must hurt. Jimmy doesn't bother to be gentle, just jerks him fast and hard and Pete is biting down on his lip to keep from coming right now--

Then he just _stops_ , out of the fucking blue. Pete is tempted to ask if he's lost his damn mind but then Jimmy's sticking two fingers in his mouth and Pete sucks without even thinking about it. There's a salty taste to them that Pete realizes is _him_ and he lets out a little groan, running his tongue around the pads of Jimmy's fingers. He hears Jimmy fumbling with his boxers and he almost misses the weight in his mouth when Jimmy pulls his fingers out, but then he's being kissed hard and brutally so he can't bring himself to mind. Jimmy's hand snakes around Pete's waist and then lower down, and Pete should expect what's coming but he doesn't; instead he cries out and tenses, digging his fingers into Jimmy's back. 

"I'll stop," Jimmy says quietly, and starts to pull his finger out.

"No," Pete grits out and grinds down hard. 

Jimmy can't quite hide the smirk, but Pete doesn't much mind. He's still trying to adapt to this-- _this_. He's still getting used to it when he's bracing his arms against the door ("Turn around," Jimmy says into his neck, and yeah, he's really going to try and argue), and he's still getting used to it when Jimmy pushes another finger in (he never noticed how big Jimmy's hands were before). He' s almost comfortable when Jimmy takes his hand away altogether and he's about to protest but then Jimmy pushes into him _for real_ this time and he has to hold his breath. 

Jimmy waits for him, chest against his back and hands on his hips, until Pete can exhale and roll his hips back experimentally, just an inch or so. Then Jimmy starts to move and Pete knows that this is not his call, so he just tries to match the rhythm he sets, pushing back when Jimmy shoves in, trying to keep time. Every once in awhile Jimmy grazes a spot that makes Pete feel like he's on fire, and he whimpers pathetically, biting on his lip. He can feel heat pooling in his stomach and the tightness following it, and he knows he's almost there, and then Jimmy's hand comes around and strokes over his cock and he's done for, shuddering and biting his arm to keep from shouting. Jimmy pushes in once, twice more before he's spent, too, coming with a hiss inside him. 

When Jimmy pulls out it makes a wet, strange noise and the first thing Pete can think to say is, "Holy shit." Then he maybe collapses a little bit. 

Jimmy eases down beside him, touching just enough for it to look accidental. 

He never says who he'd been fighting with. Pete never asks him.


End file.
